In a field of barley between nothing else, and nowhere to run this time, is the measurement.

Ambushed again, Helena has survived the crash quite well, just some cracked bones that are healing already. The pain is immense, but she wishes it away.

Something impossibly ethereal had struck the car with such a force that they’ve been hurled hundreds of meters out of the road.

“Wretched bitch!” She growls crawling out of the wreckage kicking the car door open and feeling her ankle and anger break.

Quickly limping she re-arms herself and with her vision still swimming surveys the surroundings. The night-optics would not be of any help here, so she resorts to the last bits of everyconcept within her to help her perceive through the dark.

(optional soundtrack, definitely NSFW)

It grows larger by the seconds, a soul-licking malice coming closer in the form of the Mare.

“Nice try. I see you are fading, little spirit. How will you fare, if at all?” the irony is not lost on her as she starts shooting.  None of the bullets reach their target but are engulfed in the tumultuous shroud that protects the god.

“I brought my worst men; some of them have a grudge with you."

They shamble forwards from the confines of the unobservable space and snarl, some berserk, but all light-thirsty for her being.

They blink in and out of existence between the shots from her rifle. But this is, of course, just to slow them down as she rips the door of their car right from its hinges, hurling it toward one of the advancing forms.

She then grabs Cicero’s broken body.

”Cicero! I’ve fucking lost all of my light! Wake up! For everything dear, if you ever loved anything, this is the time!”

She backhands him in the backseat.

Cicero opens his eyes suddenly, standing up and kissing her for a moment.

“I think I’m wider than awake.”

A parchment burned. Time stops for everything else. Ill prepared he is not. Some of them still move. Unprecedented.

He takes the newly shining guns to them, swiftly dispatching the darkspawn. Left, right, up, even the one who bursts from the ground below, the Butcher, takes another one for the rust, even the Lantern Keeper perishes. They fall like wheat on thresh.

“Not you!”

Night Mare smiles and reveals its true form; that of a surging torrent of shivering killing mist. It forms a spear that comes with such force has struck him before than it has struck him with force that has taken him to the ground before his feet have left the ground.

It strikes Cicero’s alchemic armor and ruptures in only one direction, a marble bottle that shatters with a brilliant anti-light.

He falls. Definitely still not Him.

Helena hobbles to his side leaning down.

“We’ve failed, I failed to capture it, and a seed got out.”

“And I’ve used some of my best equipment here. Where are we by the way?”

“Motherfucking alive!” she answers.


You may safely ignore all the music advice btw. Mostly nothing to do with the story. Just for my own amusement.